If It Weren’t for Calendars and Color-Coding, I Don’t Know What I’d Do

It has been quite awhile since I last wrote. I keep joking with people that “you know that I have been crazy busy if I haven’t even updated my Facebook status”. Such has been the case recently. Life is quite an undertaking unto itself when you are constantly chasing after your 15-month old, pulling non-edible items out of his mouth, and forever engaging his insatiable curiosities of the world around him. And the days of even attempting to type with one-hand are long gone. Caiden LOVES the computer, so as soon as he sees a keyboard, those little hands are instantly banging on the keys (Thanks, Grandpa. You’ve created this monster!). But toddler-rearing aside, my life is full of “extra-curricular undertakings”.

I am currently taking my FINAL graduate class. Once this is completed, my course load for Framingham State will be complete and I will only have to prepare a portfolio of work to be submitted to a review board. That will, essentially, serve as my comprehensive exam and then I will officially have my Masters degree in Special Education: Moderate Needs (Grades 5-12). If the stars all align, graduation will soon be around the corner! This course, in the meantime, is pretty intense though. Since it is a summer session, it has the majority of the work that is normally assigned during a regular semester crunched into a 6-week time frame. It is also accompanied by a 30-hour practicum. I have found myself writing papers into the wee small hours of the morning, waking up with Caiden 4 hours later, taking care of him as a normal day, and then writing more during his naptimes. This is getting increasingly difficult as he has (ever so conveniently, might I add) decided to change his own schedule and take only one nap a day instead of two. Dan has been very supportive throughout all of this though and helps whenever and wherever he can. I have found myself having to leave the house though some days and do my work at the college library or the public library because when I am at home, the boys (unintentionally) distract me. The mom in me has a tendency to want to intervene if I hear the lil’ guy crying or I find myself yelling downstairs, “Do you guys need anything?” , “What are you guys doing?”, “There are snacks in the cupboard!”. If Dan decides that he is going to take Caid to go visit a family member or to the park to give me some quiet time to work, I find myself longing to spend that quality family time together and either miss out on it or completely abandon my assignment all-together in order to not miss it. It’s definitely tough, but not nearly as tough as trying to plan a wedding with a toddler underfoot... Which leads me to my next undertaking.

As of this moment, our wedding day is officially 70 days away. Although, we seem to be in pretty good shape, it seems as though every time we cross something off of our to-do list, another 154,853,472 appear as a result of it. Case in point: a few weeks ago we went to the wedding venue to finalize the menu and details such as the linen choices and room setup. Going into the meeting a felt so excited because I knew that as soon as we left, I would be able to “X” off that appointment and be able to have our RSVP cards printed. Whoopee! Turns out: No. Not whoopee! “Whoopee” turned into “Now that you have finalized the menu, you need to get us an alphabetized guest list with each entrée denoted next to it. We will also need a copy of your wedding party affiliations in the event that the DJ does not make the appropriate introductions. Don’t forget that when you create the spreadsheet of guest seating, you must include no more than 10 per people per table and no less that 8 or you will be charged an extra fee so that we may staff the event appropriately. Etc. Etc. Etc.” Now, don’t get me wrong. This all makes perfect sense and I knew that tasks like this were on the horizon. But I would have much rather preferred to just make an “X” and shout, “Whoopee!”

Then there was the incredibly daunting task of “Wedding Invitations”. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am a practical gal who will try her best to save money where she can so it can be used on something that can benefit “the greater cause”. For me, wedding invitations were one of the least important things to spend a lot of money on when compared to getting a venue that served great food or choosing a couple of extra fun things that our guests will be (hopefully) talking about after that experience. Listen people, I know that I, for one, will toss out your invitation once your big day has come and gone—but if you have a kick ass DJ that had me “Cha-Cha Sliding” and “Cupid Shuffling” the entire night, THAT will be what I remember about your wedding! So I ended up purchasing DIY wedding invitation kits. PRO: the most expensive part of each invitation was probably the postage. CON: I had to do it myself. Once we created the templates, I was able to bring everything over to my local Staples store and have them printed. They even took care of printing the return labels. True to their motto, I can honestly say: “Staples. Now that was easy.” When I got everything home, though, the stress began to sink in. My basement was turned into an assembly station every night after 9pm because that is the “Caiden Play Zone” every other hour of our day. I was in charge of doing all of the handwritten addresses on the outside of the envelopes because Dan’s writing would have had it make it look like we hired a third-grader to do it (his words, not mine. Self-deprecating humor is a must in our household.). So 100 handwritten addresses were completed. “X”. Then came the assembly of the invitations. Put postage stamps here and there. “X”. Add an embellishment to each invitation here. “X”. Add in the RSVP cards, directions to the venue, guest information cards, and bridal registry cards. “X, X, X, and X”. It took me over a week to finish everything when all was said and done with regard to this process, and, despite my complaining, I am glad that I did take this route because it really was economically wise. However, that said, I am glad that I will never have to do it again. And, as a side note, I came to the realization after this particular experience that tasks such as this are always far more fun when you are doing it for someone other than yourself.

In other “wedding news”, I have an appointment with the florist this afternoon, my bridesmaids’ gifts are all ready to go, the cake has been ordered, the flower girls have their dresses, and tickets for our Jack & Jill celebration on July 23^rd are on sale. I am also happy to report that my first dress fitting resulted in the seamstress having to take it in a few sizes. “Whoopee!”

Mother’s Day Musings

Caiden in 2009

Caiden in 2010

How so much can change in a year...

I am now hours away from celebrating my second Mother’s Day and wanted to take a few moments to relish in the unexpected beauties brought into my life courtesy of a little boy. I think that when most women first learn that they are pregnant, they inundate themselves with text from What to Expect books and magazine articles, and (gasp!) advice-galore (solicited and unsolicited) from others in order to prepare them for the journey that lay before them. I was not an exception to this methodology of early maternity. As with everything in life, I just took a deep breath and leapt in, both feet, swandive-style. I was on mailing lists, networked with other young moms, and researched the ins & outs of everything “baby”. The information from these resources was not be cast aside—most was, generally, right on target. But as cliché as it sounds, NOTHING could truly prepare me for the challenges and blessings that accompany the realities of motherhood.

The first year of being a mother was, yes, exciting at times, but, for the most part—generally OVERWHELMING. I dove in head first, no doubt, but rose to the surface after the arrival of Caiden and quickly realized that I was desperately treading water. And this wasn’t just the first few weeks of motherhood that I felt like, “Wait a second… What was God thinking putting ME in charge of another human being? I can barely remember to clean the lint trap and lose my car keys on an hourly-basis!” The books and advice that I had previously studied never alluded to how hard it would be to accomplish the smallest of daily tasks (i.e.: a load of laundry, bathing, getting out of the house on time with everything you actually need on you). They never warned me that my kid might have reflux issues or hate to be in a room with more than four people in it. They were TOTALLY not realistic with the length of time it would require to actually lose the baby-weight. (Oh, and those workouts that suggested incorporating baby—Rrrrrright!) They didn’t prepare me for the stress that I would feel when my child was being compared to the children of other new parents. (“No. My son doesn’t use sign language.” “Yes. He is formula-fed.” “Yes, that outfit is from Baby GAP, but I bought those clothes second-hand.”)

During the first year, I felt as though I was drowning. But amidst the breaths that I gained from the small, yet triumphant, accomplishments of my baby boy, I finally realized that the only things that were truly crippling me in the waters of parenthood were my own insecurities. It wasn’t until this epiphany—my little brainstorm buoy—that I was able to actually able to cut myself a little slack and say, “Wait a minute. I have a blissful, healthy child in my arms. I gotta be doing something right. Crap! Where are my keys, though?!?!?”

It has been established that it took me a year to figure out that lesson. It definitely wasn’t easy and, by no means, do I swim the seas of Mommy-dom with ease all the time. Every now and then a giant wave will rock my world to keep me in check. It’s a good thing, though. There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance and an even finer line between arrogance and ignorance…

This past year of being a mother has still been challenging. At times, it may actually be more challenging than the first. Lord knows, that I have been saying all along that, “the more a kid can do, the more trouble they can get into.” True to my maternal-wisdom, Caiden learns more and more every day and keeps me on my toes. During “Year Two”, instead of being concerned that he has had enough “tummy time”, I am busy chasing him up & down the stairs and all around the house. Instead of worrying about whether or not Caiden has spit up his entire bottle, I am trying to sneak in an adequate amount of vegetables into his daily meals without him noticing. Instead of freaking out that I am 6-loads behind on the laundry, I am more concerned with keeping my boy from climbing into the washer. God, it’s fun though. And no book could have told me how fun it would actually be.

Happiness Is...

In conjunction with a “Childhood”-themed sermon series at my church, the choir director has recently chosen a few songs that capture the essence of youth, innocence, and simplicity. Tunes such as “I Won’t Grow Up” (from Peter Pan) and John Lennon’s “Imagine” have echoed from the choir loft, but it was Clark Gesner’s “Happiness” (from You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown!) that really got my gears turning for this week’s blog entry. According to these lyrics, “Happiness is two kinds of ice cream, finding your skate key, telling the time, Happiness is learning to whistle, Tying your shoes for the very first time, Happiness is playing the drum in your own school band and Happiness is walking hand-in-hand”. In goes on and on touching upon the small things in life that really are the things that make one happy. So I got to thinking: What brings me such happiness?

Happiness is:

v Getting a greeting card with a heartfelt message in it

v Daisies

v A random hug

v Finishing something that I didn’t think I could do in the beginning

v A picnic

v The ocean

v The dead weight of my child sleeping on my chest—trusting me with everything, loving me without abandon

v Having a full tank of gas and the car windows down

v Laying in a hammock under the stars

v Playing on the swings at a park

v Thunderstorms

v The smell of laundry drying in the summer air

v Watching cartoons and eating cereal on the weekends—just like when you were little

v The feeling you get when you are wearing a good pair of Spanx and know that you look damn good

v Even better-- The feeling you get when you don’t need a good pair of Spanx and know that you look damn good

v A good mozzarella stick accompanied by the kind of marinara sauce you wish you could eat like a bowl of soup

v Holding hands with someone you love

v Taking a nap

v Sushi

v Running barefoot in the grass

v Playing wiffleball

v Getting a mix CD from a friend

v Beagle puppies

v The last bell on a Friday before vacation

v Watching birds at a bird feeder

v Hearing a good song from years ago that you TOTALLY forgot existed

I know that there are so many other things that I could list right now, and, perhaps, I will add them later. For now, I think that it is just important that on days like this—filled with the stresses of planning a wedding and caring for a sick baby—I sit back and remember what really matters when all is said and done.

And From Under a Rock, I Emerge...

Ok, so it is official: I am the worst blogger known to man in the “consistency” category. In my defense, however, I must state that when I foolishly began this quest of literary enlightenment, I started my own Avon business, in addition to going back to work full-time and my child achieved about 5-gadjillion-major- mobile- milestones in the interim. This whole “blogging” thing isn’t for those who are trying to balance the world on their shoulders while coaxing a one-year-old out of his kitchen-cupboard-fort as he simultaneously holds the cutlery and Tupperware hostage…

The masses have spoken, though, and I have read the comments posted via Facebook and this blog site-- so (hold the applause, please), I have returned.

Since I last wrote, the following events have taken place in “Laurel Land”:

1.) Caiden turned 1. Holy. Crap. I. Am. The. Mother. Of. A. Toddler. (See addendum #3.)

2.) I went back to work at “The Oak” for 6-weeks while my friend, Tiffany, went on maternity leave. At my house, we like to refer to this time as “The Experiment That Went Horribly Wrong”. I was itching to get out the house, make some extra money, interact with other adults, use my brain for things other than trying to sneak vegetables into meals usually containing hot dogs or mac & cheese. This long-term substitution job was going to be the perfect opportunity for me to figure out where I wanted to go with my career. We were fortunate enough to have my mother come and watch Caid during the days, but while I was away it felt as though the entire foundation of our family structure was eroding away bit-by-bit. The nature of my job was exhausting emotionally and time-consuming. I had always appreciated how my fellow female coworkers were able to dedicate so many hours to the school, the students, the bureaucracy of the system, and then proceed to go home cook a meal, do a load of laundry, and raise their own children. After completing this substitution-stint, my appreciation for these women has extended far past an ordinary realm and morphed into utter awe, admiration, and respect. “The Experiment That Went Horribly Wrong” was a difficult lesson to learn. And at its’ conclusion, it taught me that, although I love making my “own” money and contributing to the general income of our household, I much prefer staying at home with Caiden. Life is far too short, and, quite frankly, that other job just doesn’t pay enough in the grand scheme of things.

3.) My child has relatively mastered the art of:

ü Using gibberish to tell long-winded tales

ü Blowing extremely wet raspberries (usually in one’s face) and making snorting noises. Both of these acts are usually accompanied by fits of little boy laughter and maternal eye-rolling.

ü Finding bodies of water—big and small. Yes, I have found him trying to drink water from the dog bowl as well as using the toilet like a water table. A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FOR ALL PARENTS: No amount of child-proofing is fail-safe. Do your best, let your kid explore, and always have a canister of sanitizing wipes within an arm’s reach.

ü Walking. Contrary to what it looks like, my son hasn’t been drinking all day. He’s just getting used to the new legs. He’s definitely still wobbly, yet he manages to get places pretty darn quickly.

ü Climbing the stairs--one-way, of course. Being able to descend on the stairs would be far too useful of a skill at this point in time. Not when you can draw much more attention to yourself by racing up the stairs and then scream when you’re stuck at the top.

4.) With regard to wedding plans, we recently booked our honeymoon to St. Lucia. It will be kid-free and I feel like a bad mother at times because I am sooooooooooooooo looking forward to it. Then I think of blue water and free drinks and quickly get over it.

So there you have it, folks: An update on my thrilling life. Are you now experiencing regret for telling me to write new posts?

Welcome to Laurel Land: Population 0000001

"Welcome to Laurel Land: Population 0000001"... For years this was the screensaver that scrolled across my PC monitor prior to the inevitable upgrading to our Mac. In college, people used to comment on it time and time again telling me how “funny and creative” it was. Others used to tell me how much they enjoyed reading my away messages that were posted while I was instant messaging. Now that I have an opportunity to blog about my life-- well, one might see how appropriate the idea of “Laurel Land” is "umpteen" years later. In fact, I find it more appropriate than ever to have that title on my computer screen as I attempt to join the millions of other mommies around the world “blogging”. Cyber-peer pressure: It’s a bitch.

I have contemplated on starting a blog for quite some time now. It originally appealed to me because I have always expressed myself through the process of writing. I have volumes of poetry written in old notebooks and on the backs of the occasional flier from a Val-Pack mailing stashed within the depths of my closets and dresser drawers. I even started a memoir in my late-teens with the secret aspiration to have it published one day (Essentially, it was by another author under the title “Prozac Nation”…). Quite frankly, I have no idea if anyone will ever even read these entries in my “virtual diary”. But after realizing that Facebook status postings are sometimes the only contact that I have with the outside world, this blog spot may become my cyber getaway to vent and express myself outside the confines of my life in suburbia. Don’t get me wrong-- I love my family, my house, my pets, and even my 4-door sedan, but every mother out there knows that she needs to identify herself—define herself—with terms other than “wife”, “mom”, and “homemaker”.

I felt that social muzzle being placed on me as soon as I became pregnant. Although people were quick to express their excitement and congratulations to me (which was greatly loved and appreciated), any and all conversation that soon followed for nine months ALWAYS consisted of “baby/motherhood” talk. How big was the baby getting? How was I feeling even though I looked and felt like a beached whale? What was the timetable of my maternity leave? Instead of being “Laurel”, I felt like I became “The Uterus”. Then, when my beautiful Caiden was born, I emerged from my preggers cocoon as “Caid’s mom”. It truly felt like everyone’s’ perception of who I truly was became erased as soon as two blue lines appeared on an EPT stick.

Perhaps, although only voicing it silently on a computer screen, I can scream, “I am an individual, damnit! Just because I entered the realm of motherhood doesn’t mean that I have depleted my stock of personal interests! I want to talk about things other than my baby’s milestones, sleeping patterns, and bowel movements! I am a Red Sox fan! I am a glutton for anything covered in cheese. I live off of a TV-diet consisting of the phrase “That’s what she said”, bad (but very addicting) reality series, and Law & Order ABCD in NYC. I have no fashion sense, but posses a shoe wardrobe that would make a Kardashian jealous. I actually enjoy spending time in the gym (obviously to work off the cheese-covered food that I have inevitably eaten). I love photography. I know and (use daily) multisyllabic words. I yearn to travel. And just because I have a scar across my lower abdomen doesn’t mean that I am not as sweet, sassy, sarcastic and sexy as ever!”

Thus, the creation of this blog. So welcome to Laurel Land: Population 0000001. Join me if you so desire, but enter at your own risk…